


accidents

by blue like winter (bleucommelhiver)



Series: in the darkness of night [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Final Fantasy XV: Brotherhood
Genre: Brotherhood Era - those involved in some night time extracurriculars are both still in high school, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Noct is a bit of a perv in this, Pining, Pre-Wayward Children, Sharing a Bed, Somnophilia, Unresolved Sexual Tension, basically there's some touching when one or maybe both people are awake, or is it Reverse Somnophilia?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleucommelhiver/pseuds/blue%20like%20winter
Summary: It’s not entirely an accident that his fingers brush yours when you walk side by side, this dance of yours so familiar you can no longer remember when it began. And when your fingers hook, by coincidence of course, Noctis doesn’t bother to let go, and neither do you...It's easier for Noctis to blame these stolen moments on accidents, especially when he's not sure he should feel the way he does about you.





	accidents

**Author's Note:**

> EYYYY YOOOO FRIENDOS. See, I told you my muse is a fickle bitch. Here I am working hard and trying to wrap up [Unravel Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608542/chapters/33764592) and BAM, she's like, "Nope, remember that [300 word piece](https://bleucommelhiver.tumblr.com/post/171922253662/accidents-noctis-x-reader) you wrote for Noct a long time ago? Remember? REMEMBER? MAKE IT LONGER." So here guys, have some pervy-ass Noctass. Please don't kill me.
> 
> Pre-Wayward Children. You don't have to read it to enjoy this, but it gives nice insight on their relationship and vice-versa.

 

* * *

  

It’s not entirely an accident that his fingers brush yours when you walk side by side, this dance of yours so familiar you can no longer remember when it began. And when your fingers hook, by coincidence of course, Noctis doesn’t bother to let go, and neither do you, after all, what’s a little innocent handholding between a brother and his adopted sister?

Then why, why does it feel so illicit when he slides his fingers within yours? Interlacing them just to feel a little more, squeezing, just to make sure it’s _you_ by his side. And why is it something he only does hidden from the curious eyes of friends and family? As if he knows it’s improper. As if he knows they wouldn’t approve. As if it's  _you_ who wouldn’t approve with the way he avoids making eye contact every time it happens. But the feeling of guilt isn’t enough to stop him, not when you so easily let him, not when the warmth of your hand travels through his and makes him giddy and breathless in a way only—

Prompto’s voice makes him drop your hand like a hot potato.

He never looks back to make sure you’d follow (you always do). He never sees the look of hurt when it happens, never sees how good you are at tamping down the feelings and fixing a wide smile upon your face.

He’s a coward. He knows that.

The feeling intensifies when he sees the way Nyx so easily picks you up in an embrace, your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist as he spins you in greeting. Noctis sees the way his fingers tighten around your waist when he bends down to kiss your forehead, a kiss you readily accept with a laugh and a playful shoo.

Noctis feels the bile rising in his throat when he calls out brusquely, “Hey, we’re gonna be late.”

Another squeeze and a whisper in your ear that makes you giggle prettily.

Noctis wishes that was him.

“Highness,” Nyx says with apology or was that amusement in the crinkle of his grey eyes?

Noctis merely nods and walks away without a backward glance. He knows you’ll follow and next time…

Next time he won’t let go so easily.

 

* * *

 

You’re not siblings, not truly.

It is something Noctis finds he’s reminding himself of more often as of late.

Hard not to when he finds his gaze repeatedly drawn to you throughout the course of class. Especially hard not to when his eyes can’t help but trail your form in a way that is far from respectable. He’s never noticed until now, but the school issued skirt you’re required to wear is scandalously short.

If he slouches in his seat just so, he can catch glimpses of the delicate lace you’re wearing underneath whenever you bend to retrieve a fallen object. An accidental discovery he both loathed and cherished. Because now instead of fighting the urge to sleep through all his classes, he’s fighting the urge not to knock his pen over, so it rolls just within your reach; the need to satisfy his perverse curiosity of whether today is silken white or Chantilly black (he loves black on you best, the glow of your skin as it peeks through the lace) eternally at odds with the genteel upbringing indoctrinated since birth.

Today’s his lucky day.

The gods have decided for him when they sent the paper you’ve pulled out of your messenger bag floating just out of reach and onto the floor. Sitting deep into his seat, Noctis watches entranced as the grey of your skirt skims higher, higher, and higher along your thighs until the round curve of your buttocks is exposed and—

Noctis never knew he liked the color pink until today.

He feels like a pervert, stealing these accidental glances of you, but the adrenaline that rushes through his body, the heat the settles deep in his stomach and then a little embarrassingly lower — it’s addicting.

 

* * *

 

It gets a little harder being around you with the way his body disobeys him now, but when you’re shouting with Prompto at the TV screen in his ratty old t-shirt and a fuzzy blanket draped over your head, everything reverts to normal. Being around you becomes easy again, in fact, being around you becomes so frightfully easy that between the excitement of clearing that last dungeon _and_ getting a rare weapon in King’s Knight, no one notices how late it’s gotten and the next thing Noctis knows, he’s asking the both of you to stay the night.

“Dibs on the sofa!” Prompto shouts as he falls back onto the plush couch, arms wide open to claim it completely.

Noctis watches you worry your bottom lip in uncertainty.

“I’ll head home then, it’s just across the hall.”

He wants you to stay. There’s room enough for two on his bed, but he doesn’t know how to tell you that without sounding…weird.

“Aw, Iggy’s not coming over tomorrow, if you leave us on our own for breakfast, we’ll starve.”

Noctis flashes a triumphant smile at Prompto; he can always count on Prompto to have his back, unwittingly or not.

He turns to you with a small smirk and grabs your wrist — wrist, not hand because Prompto is staring at the two of you and hand seems…he’s not ready to let someone else witness something so intimate.

Tugging you towards the bedroom, he says quietly, “C’mon,” he’s trying hard to fight the heat that threatens to rise to his cheeks. “It’s just me. I don’t bite.”

 _A lie_. His subconscious sneers at him.

A lie, he acknowledges when you follow him in with a small wave goodnight at Prompto. A definite lie, he knows when you plop down onto his bed and look up at him innocently, beckoning him to join.

“Wait. Turn around for a sec.” At your questioning look he continues, “Gonna change. Unless you want me to sleep in my jeans…or boxers.”

“Right!” You squeak, rolling over so that you’re facing the wall.

He makes quick work of it, yawning in the process. The digital clock reads 2:46 AM in big red letters. Turning off the light, he slides into his side of the bed, making sure to leave enough distance between your bodies.

In the darkness of the room, he can hear the gentle rise and fall of your breath.

“You still awake?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah.” You turn around so you’re both facing the ceiling.

Turned this way, Noctis can feel the heat of your arm just brushing his and he thanks Ignis for having the foresight to get him a full-sized bed instead of the queen he asked for.

Noctis wonders how you’ll feel if he pulls you closer, so that your head rests on his chest and his arm curls around you; you used to sleep together like that, not so many years ago, and he finds he misses it. Heart thumping against his ribcage, he settles with sliding his hand in yours, relaxing when you don’t pull away.

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep after that.

 

* * *

 

He wakes in the dead of night to the muffled sound of Prompto rummaging around in the kitchen.

But his attention is stolen by you.

Somehow, through the night, you’ve ended up nestled in his arms, backside pressed firmly against him, the curve of you perfectly molded to his. He is equally complicit in the act, for his arm is draped around your waist possessively. Through the haze of slumber he thinks should move. He really should; he already feels his traitorous body reacting in ways it shouldn’t.

But you’re still sleeping, he can hear it in the even exhale of your breath, and he doesn’t want to wake you; you’re bound to if he tries to move with how tangled your limbs have become. It’s comfortable. He hasn’t slept this well in weeks.

So when his lips graze the back of your neck, an accident he forces himself to believe for he had meant only to turn his head, his hold tightens just a fraction, to savor the taste of your skin.

In this moment, Noctis half prays you awaken and half rejoices in the fact that you don’t, the depravity of his wants unlost upon him.

He inhales deeply; the scent of you fills his chest with a wistfulness he does not understand. All he knows is that he likes it, that it feels good when you’re this close to him, that the adrenaline pumping through his system has him drunk on you. Noctis shifts ever so slightly until his lips rest upon your nape, a forbidden kiss he only dares to steal in your repose.

Except.

He hears the sharp intake of your breath. Feels the slow shift of your body as you press deeper into his embrace.

You’re awake.

Surely you feel his lips against your skin, how could you not?

Noctis stills his breath and hopes he doesn’t sound as ragged as he feels, achingly hard and illicitly pressed against your bottom. You shift again and he bites back a groan, his fingers digging ever so slightly into your hipbone in a vain attempt to still you.

 _Are you awake_? He wants to ask.

 _Do you know what you’re doing to me_?

You mustn’t or you’d stop. You’d stop the shifting of your limbs because now his thighs are caught between yours and he can feel the faint heat of your core through the shorts he lent you. You’d stop because you’d feel him, feel how much he wants—

The next movement has you grinding deep against his erection and Noctis can no longer hold back, a desperate groan escapes his lips muffled only by the skin of your neck and his hand falls just between the juncture of your legs, _accidentally_ of course.

But the next part is no accident, no matter how he tries to twist it. His actions are too deliberate, too careful, that he can’t excuse it with anything but purpose. How could he excuse the way his hand slides up your smooth thigh, pushing the loose shorts high enough so that his fingers may find its way to the edge of your underwear. How could he excuse the slip of his fingers inside, dipping in just enough to touch the wet slick of your heat before sliding up to graze the sensitive bud he knows lies there.

Your body arcs.

 _Are you awake yet_?

Noctis chances another touch, this time his two fingers press insistently, rubbing clockwise. Once, to make you arch against him. Twice, to hear the faint moan that falls from your lips. Thrice, to feel you tremble in his arms.

He stills when he notices his hips moving in rhythm, rutting against you.

This isn’t how Noctis wants this.

He wants you to be awake. Wants you to want this.

Wants you to want _him_.

Unsatisfied with your lack of reaction when he stops, Noctis slowly withdraws his hand and waits, a test of seer willpower when he can feel your wetness seeping through three layers of clothing and onto his thigh.

It is only when your breath falls back into the even depths of sleep does he finally sigh and part his lips from your skin. 

 _So you were awake_?

 _Did you think you were dreaming_?

The disappointment Noctis feels at not getting caught frustrates him.

It takes a while for Noctis to fall back asleep when he’s painfully erect and his fingers are still glistening teasingly with your essence, but when he does, he dreams of you pushing against his fingers, arching, arching, arching, until you’ve come alive, pulsing and tremoring, riding his hand until his name falls from your lips, over and over and over again.

In the morning, he wakes to the sound of breakfast and an empty bed.

His thigh is damp and his fingers are drenched.

 


End file.
